


Fire Emblem CrackFic Collection

by cesau



Category: Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Crack, Meta, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-12-25 08:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 19,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12032343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesau/pseuds/cesau
Summary: A collection of crackfics featuring characters and pairings throughout the series, but if I listed every one of them, we'd be here all day. The chapter titles should give you a good idea of who shows up where. Any stories containing spoilers will be appropriately marked.Pure, unfiltered crack. Do not expect good writing, good characterization, or good taste. Please leave your sensibility at the door.





	1. Palla+Tatiana+Jock Straps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Palla tries on Tatiana's jockstrap and booty shorts. He finds it oddly erotic."

"Listen, it's not like I _wanted_ to masquerade as a girl, but no one wants a man on a pegasus!" Palla cried, nervously wringing his hair. "We kept trying to join the army, and they kept turning us down, so I figured we should try something new, you know? Three sisters on matching steeds, it's kind of a cool theme, right? And they took us, and we're all pretty good at this fighting thing, so I don't know what you're complaining about."

Celica sighed and shook her head, then looked to Alm, whose expression was very conflicted right now.

"Okay," he said slowly. "And what about you, Tatiana?"

He snorted. "Man, have you met Zeke? I had to find _some_ way to lock that shit down. And it worked, didn't it?"

Celica had to admit that was a fair point. Zeke was a very appealing man. Alm was not pleased when she pointed this out, and he groaned loudly.

"Okay, fine, so you both just _happened_ to find yourselves in situations where you needed to disguise yourselves as women. Fine!" He glared and pointed at Palla. "But why the hell were you wearing his jock strap?!"

Palla shrugged. "I wanted to see how it looked in the booty shorts."

Alm cried.


	2. Catria+Genny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Catria is insecure about her body. Genny comforts her."

"I'm just...too plain," Catria said with an air of frustration. "If I could just be more elegant, like Palla, or cuter, like Est..."

"I think you're fine just the way you are," Genny said. Catria let out a short huff of laughter.

"If that were the case-" She stopped at once, embarrassed about what she was going to say, but Genny urged her on gently.

"Then what? Why do you want to be different?"

"If that were the case...then maybe I wouldn't have such rotten luck with love."

Genny brightened at once, almost childishly so. "Oh, is there someone you like? I just love a good love story! Tell me about him!"

Catria flushed red and shifted away. "That's not-!" Oh, bother. Why not? She was on the other side of the world and Genny didn't have a mean bone in her body. If she was ever going to say it out loud, there would never be a better chance. "You can't tell anyone, okay? Especially not my sisters." Genny nodded eagerly, and Catria sighed. "It's...it's King Marth of Altea."

"I have no idea who that is."

"Oh." Catria reached into her saddlebag and fished around. "Well, would you look at that? I conveniently have a drawing of him right here! It's this guy. This is the guy I'm in love with."

She handed over the drawing and eagerly waited for Genny's reaction...but she wasn't expecting the girl to laugh.

"Um," Genny said. "Are you for real right now, or is this just a really elaborate joke?"

"What?"

"Catria, how did you fall in love with this? He looks like a prepubescent girl, and I should know." She paused. "Wait, is he not wearing pants?"

"It's an old picture!" Catria cried, snatching the drawing back and cradling it close. Apparently she was wrong about Genny and her perceived friendliness.

"I-I'm sorry," Genny said through her giggles. "B-but look on the bright side! There are plenty of other beautiful women you could be dating!" She burst into laughter anew, and Catria wanted to die.

"You are not a nice girl!" she yelled as she stormed off. "You are not a nice girl at all!"

Genny did feel bad about it, minutes later when she'd finally managed to tamper down the giggles. But she really hadn't expected that at all! She sighed happily and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"And I thought _my_ tastes were weird."


	3. Faye+Flour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Alm is horrified to discover that Faye is addicted to flour."

Alm had the utmost trust in all of his old friends from Ram Village, the true companions who had been with him from the start of this long journey to save Zofia and later all of Valentia. They had embarked upon this quest as children, but after such trials as they had seen, none could still be called that. He was proud, proud of his friends and of himself, for the strength of character they had all displayed.

This pride vanished to be replaced with worry when he walked into supply tent to find Faye crouched low in the corner, shoulders hunched as if in pain. Panic seized him, and he rushed to his friend's side and grabbed her shoulder to spin her around, terrified of what he might see. Had she been injured? Why had she come here, rather than find a healer? How had no one noticed her missing?

But she was...fine, Alm noted with immediate relief. And then confusion. She held a burlap sack in her arms, and her hands and face were coated in a thick white powder.

"Faye, what the fuck," he said.

"Uhhhhh," she mumbled around a mouth full of flour. "You weren't supposed to see this."

"Mila help me, is that...is that flour? Are you eating raw flour?!"

"'s just. Really good," she said. She held out a fistful of the stuff and Alm recoiled in disgust. "Want some?"

"Do I want some- no, I don't fucking want some, what is _wrong_ with you?!"

Faye looked away sadly and swallowed the truly unsettling amount of flour she had stuffed in her mouth, then licked her lips. When she spoke again, her voice carried more clearly. "It's okay, Alm. I understand that this is difficult for you. After all, these rations are supposed to be for the entire army, so of course you wouldn't want to take more than your fair share. But it's okay! I won't tell! You deserve it, Alm! All the flour and more!"

"What is happening," Alm said. "What is happening here, is this a nightmare? Did I eat something bad? Did I hit my head? This doesn't make any sense. Stop doing this to me. Please, just stop."

Faye tilted her head. "Do you...want me to stop? I do love flour, but...but I'll stop for you, Alm! Because you're more important to me!" She blushed and giggled and it was super creepy, as Faye generally was. But she was still a dear friend, and it wasn't like he could just ignore this. If not for her sake, then for the rest of their friends'.

"Faye, I shouldn't have to tell you to not eat raw flour. Like, you realize how weird this is, right? This is not normal. I need to know that you know that this is not normal."

"I believe whatever you want me to believe, Alm," Faye said dreamily.

"That is not helpful!" Alm scratched his head. "I'm starting to think dragging an already unstable young woman into the middle of a war and telling her to kill people was maybe a bad idea. We really shouldn't have taken you out of the village, huh?"

Faye smiled brightly. "No, probably not. Are you actually surprised by any of this? We've already established my obsessive personality. It's basically my only character trait."

"I am painfully aware of that fact," Alm said with a sigh. "Just...no more flour. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, Alm."

He left the tent, and she laughed wickedly. Little did he know about the bags she had hidden between her bedroll! Her beloved could be such a trusting fool at times. This was not the day Faye's addiction would end. Not by a long shot.


	4. Silque/Tobin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Silque adds Tobin to their harem."
> 
> Spoilers for some of Echoes' epilogues.

Life after the war was a strange thing for Tobin. By the end of it, he'd come to accept that the girl he wanted was in love with his best friend, and it kind of stung, but at the same time, he saw how happy the two of them made each other. And he wanted to be happy for them, but it wasn't like he could just turn off his feelings. So he decided to take an extended leave of absence from Zofia. Just for a while, and he promised Alm he'd be back before long to take his place in the One Kingdom's Brotherhood of Knights. He just needed a little time to let his thoughts settle, until he could be himself again.

But about a month into his wanderings, he was starting to wonder what he was doing wrong, because it still hurt and he was still bitter and he still wasn't ready to go back and face his friends. He found himself brooding at the inn of the latest village he'd wandered into, doing the usual ‘woe is me’ routine.

"Oh my, is that Tobin?" He turned around at the sound of the soothing voice to see Silque, the cleric he and his friends had rescued in the early days of the war.

"Silque?" Tobin said, surprised to see a familiar face in a locale this far off the map. "What are you doing here?"

She laughed lightly. "You know, I could ask the same of you. For my part, I'm a traveling cleric spreading the word and good will of Mila to those in need. I frequently find myself in charming little villages like this. Now, what about you? What are you doing so far from Zofia Castle?"

Tobin winced. "Just...trying to get some things in order," he said evasively.

Silque took a seat next to him and smiled gently, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "It sounds like perhaps you need to talk."

"Heh, maybe," he admitted. But before he could say another word, Silque stood and took his hand in hers.

"Why don't you come with me? There's something I'd like to show you first. I think it could really help you."

Tobin followed her obediently, heart feeling lighter for the first time in months. Even if Silque couldn't help him, just the thought that she was willing to try made him happy. She led him by the hand out of the inn and through the town, then way out into the country into an open field, where she stopped and smiled wide.

"Well, we're here," she said.

Tobin looked around curiously. It was just...a field, as far as he could tell. But Silque looked very pleased, and he wondered if maybe he was supposed to be appreciating the beauty of nature or something?

"It sure is...pretty?" he tried. Silque laughed.

"Oh, just give it a moment." She snapped her fingers and the ground gave way, and suddenly Tobin was free-falling through what should have been solid ground. When his back landed in the depths of whatever new place this was, he blacked out from the pain.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Tobin opened his eyes to a dimly lit room, lush red drapes hanging down the walls and intricate rugs covering the floor. Couches and plush pillows were strewn about haphazardly, and the air was stifling in such a way that he couldn't decide whether it was pleasant or unsettling. He sat up blearily, rubbing his head.

"Silque?" he whispered.

"Yea, not so much," someone else answered. Tobin looked around wildly, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice, but the hazy, low light made it difficult to see. A shadow sauntered into view, and Tobin jumped to his feet.

"Kliff?!" Tobin cried. "I thought you were in Archanea!"

His old friend glared at him more intensely than usual. "Seriously? I suddenly disappear off the face of the earth and you all just assume I abandoned you of my own free will?"

"Yes," Tobin answered. "I mean, that seems like something you would do."

"I was abducted, you ass," Kliff said with a scowl. Then he smirked. "Welcome to Silque's harem."

Tobin took a moment to let that sink in. Abducted. Silque. Harem.

"Do I get laid?" he asked.

"You've been abducted and trapped in an underground dungeon with no doors or windows, with no hope of escape...and you want to know if you get laid?"

"Yes," Tobin answered.

"Yes, Tobin, you will probably get laid, and you're not going to enjoy it as much as you think you will."

"I'll be the judge of that." He paused. "Say, is there anyone else in here besides us?"

"You can't have a harem with two people," Kliff pointed out.

"Is that true? I don't think there's, like, a set number-"

"No, we're not having this conversation. Luthier's here, too. I assume because the gods want me to suffer."

"Luthier?!" Tobin cried. "I thought he was in Archanea!"

"Wow, and she's not even coming up with unique excuses. Good to know you guys care so much about us that you didn't think _that_ was weird."

"It _is_ weird, though," Tobin mused. "That she took you two, and then me. Y'know, it's just...I'm a little more manly than either of you. Maybe her tastes have changed?"

"Oh, Silque has a wide variety of tastes!" a chipper voice called. Tobin spun around to see Faye perched on a shelf at the back of the room, smiling happily.

"Faye, she got you, too?!" Tobin cried. "I thought you were in-! Wait, no, you're supposed to be in Ram Village."

"Got me?" Faye repeated. "Nah, I was just bored. I like to stop in from time to time, see what Silque's been up to. We're pretty tight since the end of the war. Just two crazy chicks doing crazy chick stuff."

"This feels really close to character defamation," Tobin said.

"Don't be ridiculous. We've always acted this way. There is nothing strange going on here at all. Now shut up and get back to being part of a harem."

Then everyone had their way with everyone else. The end.


	5. Clair+Clive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Clair realizes that Clive is very muscular."

"Wait...brother..."

Clive turned and realized his sister was watching him with a strange look on her face. Coming from anyone else, the scrutinizing gaze might have made him uncomfortable. "Yes? What is it, Clair?"

"It's just...it's been a while since I've seen you out of your armor, and..." She trailed off awkwardly, hands fidgeting at her sides. Clive sighed. He knew that face; it was one she'd been making increasingly often as she grew into her role as a noble lady and could no longer act childishly, do whatever she pleased. Clair had something she wanted to say, but she didn't want to cause offense.

"Speak freely, sister."

"It's just...since when do you have muscles?"

Clive was taken aback, and he laughed. "Truly? That's what's bothering you? I spend my days alternately training or fighting, Clair. Of course I have muscles. I'm sure you do, too."

"Yea, but..." Clair didn't look at all relieved for it, and finally she sighed and placed her hands on her hips. "Please don't take this the wrong way, brother, but we all just assumed your...unique physique was the reason for your rather _lackluster_ performance on the field of battle."

"...My what?"

"I'm saying you suck, bro."

Clive cried himself to sleep that night.


	6. Atlas/Luigi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Luigi adds Atlas to their harem."
> 
> Technically has some spoilers about what happens with Mila and Duma at the end of Echoes?

Atlas looked down at the card in his hand and sighed. Times had been rough lately, and he was having a hard enough time just looking after himself, let alone all of his little brothers. They were growing fast, and it was getting to be a challenge keeping them clothed and fed. The oldest were starting to go out looking for work, and they were reckless about it. Atlas had been running odd jobs since he was old enough to swing an axe; his childhood had been short-lived. He didn't want that for his brothers. He'd say the one good thing was that it gave him an early start in his career, made him stand out among woodcutters despite his youth, but...

But, well, that was the problem. See, abandoning the gods and relying on humanity's own strengths was a brave, bold idea in theory. In practice? There were days Atlas thought the rest of the villagers were ready to run him off the mountain with torches and pitchforks for ruining their livelihoods. Without the blessings of a god as a fail-safe, it turned out creating an entire village of woodcutters was a bad idea. Trees took a really long time to grow.

Every Rigelian he'd ever spoken to laughed at him for that statement, but in Zofia, it really hadn't ever been an issue before! The way it went before, you cut down a forest, Mila grows you a new one within a few years. Everyone's happy, no one goes hungry.

Now no one was happy and everyone was hungry, and most of everyone blamed Atlas for their problems. He looked down at the card in his hand again, possibly his last chance at redemption. He needed a new job, one that made him enough to feed his family and pay off the many people threatening to end them all.

 _Luigi's Lubricious Lucubrators_ , the card read. Atlas gulped. He had no idea what any of those words meant, but the scantily clad figures adorning the card left little doubt as to what the job actually entailed. Also, his prospective employer had directed him to a whorehouse for the interview, so. Yea, Atlas knew what he was getting into.

Steeling his nerves, he took a deep breath and then he opened the doors of the establishment to be met with smoke-filled air and a lot of suspect noises he immediately tuned out. He was greeted right away by the strangest little creature he had ever seen, and that said a lot, he thought, considering he'd just been in a war with a goop dragon.

The top of the creature's head barely reached passed Atlas's knees, and it had stubby little limbs and a weirdly dough-y face. It wore only a thin vest and something like an adult diaper for clothing. Of course, all of that was nothing compared to the fact that the upper half of its head was just a giant, brightly colored mushroom. Atlas distantly wondered if he was tripping, but he couldn't recall having ingested anything suspicious.

"You the new guy?" the thing said in a shockingly grating voice. It was the sort of voice that would make a person mute their TV every time they played Mario Kart because it was so annoying, if a person knew what a mute button or a TV or a Mario Kart was. Which Atlas did not, so that was all rather irrelevant, wasn't it?

"That's me," Atlas said warily. "Are you...Luigi?"

"Ha! You think you get to meet the boss just like that? No, I'm Toad. Let's get moving, toots. We got a loooot of bases to cover to see if you're good enough for this job."

"Right." Atlas closed his eyes and tried to think happy thoughts. Whatever tests this...Toad creature had in store for him, he knew they couldn't be pleasant. But he was prepared for that. Anything for his family, he told himself.

"First things first...how do you feel about little brothers?"

Atlus opened his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Not like, in a sexy way. Gross. No, just in general. Little bros. How do you feel about 'em?"

Atlas was confused, but he answered honestly. After all, his brothers were the reason he was here in the first place. "I'd do anything for them," he said.

"Congratulations, you're hired."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes, really. This whole idea is fucking stupid and I can't be bothered to put in any more effort than I already have," Toad said with a shrug. "Well, that's that. Time to go meet the boss."

He led Atlas through a back door where his new employer was waiting, lounging lazily on a couch. And although he'd never seen the man before, somehow Atlas was still disappointed. He'd expected someone shorter. Maybe with a red hat. Someone like that would be an instant classic. This guy...this guy was just sort of sad-looking. But the man stood up proudly, not at all ashamed of his unusually long nose or disturbingly big eyes, and then he spoke.

"Welcome to-a Luigi's Mansion!"


	7. Denning/Monica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Denning x Monica. The greatest OTP."
> 
> Spoilers for The Sacred Stones.

Orson wandered the halls of Castle Renais, curious at his own state of mind. The twins would be advancing soon, ready to reclaim their home. Perhaps he should have felt some sort of anticipation for the battle to come, determination or fear or anything at all, but instead, he was calm. What had he to fear? As long as he had Monica by his side...

His thoughts were never far from his beloved wife. She waited for him now, away in their bedchambers where no meddling servants could intrude. He'd insisted upon it after they began spreading those awful rumors (and after having the perpetrators punished, of course). He would do anything to protect Monica, anything to be with her. He was struck by the sudden need to look upon her face, to have some assurance that he had not lost her again. With a quick step, he hurried to their chambers, eager to face her.

He unlocked the doors and pushed them open, a smile on his lips, ready to call out her name.

Instead, he gasped! There was his dear Monica, in bed with another...man, probably, it was very difficult to tell, but that seemed like a safe assumption.

"Monica! How could you?" Orson cried, completely distraught at her betrayal. She was usually so predictable, too!

"Darling. Darling...darling...darling..." Monica said.

"Don't you 'darling' me, you backstabbing hussy!" Orson felt the tears running down his face, and he wiped them away with great shame. He marched forward and pulled the strange man away from his wife, hurling him to the floor. "And you!" he shouted. "Who do you think you are, to lay your hands on another man's wife? Intruder! Defiler! _Homewrecker!_ What do you have to say for yourself?!"

"This is a message from Lord Nergal. 'I await you on the Dread Isle,'" the stranger answered. Then he vanished into the air itself, which was super weird and also very cowardly, because Orson hadn't even had the chance to challenge him to a manly duel for Monica's affections yet. Monica had always loved when he made brash decisions without consulting her first.

"Monica," Orson said, "I don't know if I can ever trust you again."

"Darling," Monica said.

"I know, I know. We've been through so much together. If I can handle the very suspicious odors you've been giving off for the past few weeks, and also the fact that your nose has apparently just fallen off entirely - when did that happen, by the way, not that I'm judging because you'll always be beautiful to me - then I should be able to forgive this trespass..."

"Darling."

"I understand. I...I have always loved you so dearly. If you say it won't happen again, I must trust in you. You have always been a loyal wife, and I am your husband. Together, we will make it through this."

"Darling."

"Yes, I love you too."

Doubts thus assuaged, Orson left the room, mentally preparing himself once more for the fierce battle to come. Anything to protect his dear Monica.

Once he'd gone, Monicorpse looked at her empty bed and frowned. There had gone Denning, the only man she'd ever truly loved. No other man spoke words so sweet.

"Darling..."


	8. Leo/Leon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A combination of people on Reddit saying that shipping assumed straight characters with people of the same sex was anti-progressive and someone else popping in to say Leon/Leon was the true ship.
> 
> Important trivia: Leo's JP name was Leon. (And Leon's JP name was Leo, but that's not important here.)

Any other army might have been slightly more suspicious after stumbling upon an unusually talented, apparently high-born mage in the middle of the Rigelian wasteland, but Celica's army had never been burdened by an overabundance of suspicion. So it was that the foreign "prince" (or so he called himself) Leon joined Celica's army in the search for the mother goddess.

He was quickly renamed Leo, because everyone found it much too confusing to have two Leons in the army, and they all agreed Archer-Leon had priority simply by virtue of wearing it better. In between battles and awkwardly handled dungeon-spelunking, Leo and Leon found themselves conversing often. They weren't quite sure why, because literally all they had in common was their names, but the Fates decreed it must happen.

They sat around an otherwise empty campfire now, everyone else having vanished into the abyss of being irrelevant to this fanfiction.

"Tell me about yourself," Leon said, mostly out of boredom.

"I like tomatoes," Leo replied.

"...And?"

"I'm sure there's more to my character than that, but you'd have to actually care about my source game to find out."

"Oh." Leon paused. "Wanna make out?"

"Yea, sure."

After about three paragraphs of sexually tense buildup, Leon leaned in, gently cupping Leo's cheek. The mage leaned into the touch wistfully and moaned, "Just like sister's face-pats."

"Please never say that again," Leon whispered seductively. He moved in to bring their lips together in a passionate kiss-

"Wait! We can't!" Leo cried dramatically, pulling away. He brought one hand up to his forehead like an affronted damsel and turned away in shame. "For you see, I have only ever shown a canonical attraction to _women!_ By romancing you, I'm pushing gay rights back by about 20 years or something. I'm not really sure how, but it's happening! I can feel it in my bones! Oh no! The Supreme Court is overturning _Obergefell v. Hodges_ as we speak!"

"I dunno, people seemed to think your bromance with Takumi was cute, or something. For some reason."

Leo stopped his dramatics and pouted. "Wait, people _hate_ Takumi. What did I do to deserve him?"

"Yea, they hate him, but they still think he's cute or whatever. Also, he's a meme now, so you should get in on that while it's still hot. It's a compliment, so don't get all offended."

"That is a fair point," Leo conceded. "After all, my brother is going to inherit the crown of Nohr, and what does that leave me with? I guess I could do worse than co-King of Memes."

"You definitely could. You could be relegated to the depths of canonical unrequited love and compared to _Faye_ , for one example. I'm not bitter."

"No one said-"

_"I’m not bitter."_

Thus, Leo found his way back to whatever his homeland is called and seduced Takumi of the Kingdom of Weeaboo, and they lived happily ever after in a palace built from memes and non-shipper tears.

The end.


	9. Julia/Raigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Massive spoilers for FE4.

Raigh was above superficial things like emotions and empathy and compassion and girls. Other kids his age could deal with that crap; he was _mature_ and he was practically an adult and he had much more important things to worry about! Stuff like mastering the dark arts and revolutionizing the field of magic and possibly showing up his brother a little bit, because people had always been way too impressed with Lugh.

So he was not at all attracted the waifish girl with the silver hair and the form-fitting dress and the absurdly powerful magic tome. Because Raigh didn’t feel things. Feelings were for losers. Raigh wasn’t a loser.

“Please...be careful,” Julia said, tome in hand, dispatching an enemy lancer who’d snuck up on Raigh while he was lost in thoughts.

“Say, thanks, I might be in love with you,” Raigh replied. _Dammit._

Julia stared at him for a long moment. Then she tilted her head and smiled.

“You’re a little young for me,” she said. “But don’t feel too bad. I’m really not as great a catch as I may look at first glance.”

Oh, and there was the crushing disappointment. Right, there’d been a reason he didn’t want to do this. Raigh scowled. “You’re just being nice. You don’t have to treat me like a kid.”

“You’re, like, twelve years old,” Julia pointed out. “It would be much stranger if I _didn’t_ treat you like a child. And I mean it, I have so much baggage, the airlines had to adjust their check-in policies, just for me.”

“You think _you_ have baggage? My mom abandoned me and my brother at an orphanage to chase after my dad, and they’re probably both dead now,” Raigh countered. A few feet away, Nino and Jaffar walked by and waved. “Technically,” he amended.

“My parents were siblings, my twin brother was the Antichrist, said twin killed our mother and tried to kill me, I had to kill _him_ with the help of _another_ brother, I could theoretically become possessed by an evil god at any time, and I have severe memory issues thanks to all the childhood trauma,” Julia said. “Also, thanks to some screwy game mechanics, my most popular ship is with my older half-brother, and it’s actually possible to make us become lovers _in-game_.”

Raigh digested all of this information with a sudden sense of gratitude for his own life circumstances.

“You win,” he said.

The end.


	10. Valbar/Artur

There was a very long and interesting story that explained how, exactly, Valbar had ended up in a place called Magvel, but he found it slightly less important when there was a small, frightened man sobbing miserably next to him.

“It’s just, that was a _really_ big spider,” Artur cried.

“I know, buddy. I know.”

With a sigh, he patted Artur on the back, rubbing small circles there in an attempt to calm him down. He’d always been pretty good at comforting people in general, but there was apparently some part of his presence that amplified the effect in effeminate men, specifically. Artur’s sobs began to wind down, and he sniffled.

“You know, you’re really good at this,” he said.

“Well, I have a lot of practice. There’s this guy back home who gets in a state way worse than what you’re doing now, so…” Kamui _really_ didn’t like necrodragons. ...Also, there was Leon, but his occasional distress had always seemed much less frequent and slightly more justified.

Artur sniffed again, and then he leaned against Valbar’s chest, nuzzling him and sighing contentedly. “I’m really lucky to have you around,” he said. 

Valbar was flattered, but he did have a type, and that type generally did not have a dick. Still, Artur was just starting to calm down, so he ruffled his hair and decided he’d tell him later.

“Sure thing, little buddy.”


	11. Sumia/Rinea

Watching Rinea glide across the ballroom floor was something amazing. Sumia decided that right away, and then she couldn’t take her eyes off the graceful woman, swaying this way and that, feet taking intricate steps Sumia couldn’t even dream of imitating.

Sumia was a hopeless dancer, an absolute mess in a dress. That was why she’d hired Rinea in the first place, in the hopes of finding some remedy to her consummate clumsiness. But they hadn’t even really begun their lessons yet, and already Sumia was afraid of all the mistakes she would make.

Presently, Rinea halted her dance and made her way over to Sumia, holding out one hand. She smiled gently, and Sumia’s breath caught at the sight of that smile.

“Shall we begin?” Rinea said.

“I...I don’t know,” Sumia said. Blushing, she looked down at the ground and stammered, “You’re just so graceful! I just know I’ll step on your feet or even knock you over, o-or something terrible!”

She felt a soft hand cup her cheek, and then Rinea coaxed her into looking up again. Her smile was even kinder now, and tinged with amusement.

“I’m getting really tired of your bullshit,” she whispered softly.

“Wait, what?”

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to get here from Rigel? Bitch, we’re dancing.”

“This seems out of character for you,” Sumia felt the need to point out.

“What character?” Rinea countered.

Then they danced, and all was well.


	12. Artur/Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither one of those looks like a name anymore.

“Listen, we need to talk,” Artur said, walking into the break room with an uncharacteristically determined stride. From his seat at the table, Arthur looked up in confusion. He had been enjoying a delicious and patriotic meal of raw eagle eggs, and he was slightly put out at having been interrupted.

“Do I know you?” he said.

“No, but I certainly hear enough about _you_ ,” Artur replied. “You know, it was bad enough when my game first came out and people were already misreading my name, but now that _you’re_ here, things are even worse! Now, when people talk about me, half the time _you_ somehow end up a part of the conversation, and that doesn’t even make sense! We are nothing alike! We are from completely different universes! This is ridiculous!”

“I have no idea who you are.”

“I’m Artur. You’re Arthur. Do you see the problem yet?”

Arthur shrugged. “That’s not ringing any bells. Also, to be fair, I actually stole the name from some other guy- actually, let’s not get into that. I think we can both agree the name Arthur is best suited to a _hero_ , which is what I am, which is what you...are not.”

“I kill monsters with light magic!” Artur protested. “I’m basically a superhero!”

At that, Arthur’s eyes lit up, and his face split into a manic grin. Artur backed away slowly.

“You...you kill monsters?! That is _extremely_ heroic! Why, I say we’re _both_ deserving of the name Arthur-”

“Artur-”

“And, in fact, our power would only double were we to combine our strengths! Might and magic, the classic duo! We would be an absolute power couple!”

“Wait, why are we a couple now-”

“Just think of it! Superman and Wonder Woman! Batman and Wonder Woman! Batman and Superman! _Arthur and Artur!_ ”

“I feel the need to point out that only one of those pairings is _not_ complete trash.”

“Is it-”

“It is not us.”

The end.


	13. Arthur/Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the 90s.

“Listen, we need to talk,” Arthur said, walking into the break room with whatever sort of stride a cartoon aardvark uses. From his seat at the table, Arthur looked up in confusion. He had been enjoying a delicious and patriotic meal of raw eagle eggs, and he was slightly put out at having been interrupted.

“Do I know you?” he said.

“No, but I certainly hear enough about _you_ ,” Arthur replied. “You know, it was bad enough when _*insert funny aardvark thing here*_ , but now I have no idea how I got here or what I’m doing, please send help.”

“I have no idea who you are.”

“I’m Arthur. You’re Arthur. Do you see the problem yet?”

Arthur shrugged. “That’s not ringing any bells. Also, to be fair, I actually stole the name from some other guy- actually, let’s not get into that. I think we can both agree the name Arthur is best suited to a _hero_ , which is what I am, which is what you...are not.”

“I am an anthropomorphized aardvark from a children’s cartoon that began in the 90s and holy shit is apparently still going on to this day, how about that,” Arthur protested. “I’m basically a superhero!”

At that, Arthur’s eyes lit up, and his face split into a manic grin. Arthur backed away slowly.

“You...you brighten the lives of children?! That is _extremely_ heroic! Why, I say we’re _both_ deserving of the name Arthur-”

“Arthur-”

“And, in fact, our power would only double were we to combine our strengths! Might and glasses, the classic duo! We would be an absolute power couple!”

“I am definitely, like, less than ten years old.”

“...Let us never speak of this again.”

The end.


	14. Oliver/Ike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Radiant Dawn's endgame.

Oliver’s addition to the army had not been intentional, and the only reason he wasn’t chased off the moment he turned up was that Ike had more important things to worry about. Also, he figured Oliver’s catastrophic damage potential would be a lot worse without supervision.

It hadn’t even been terrible, really, until the senator began following him around like some sort of deranged stalker. Then he started asking to feel his muscles and there was some other comment about oils that Ike had already furiously scraped from his memory, but the whole of it was that Ike did not even have a word for the way Oliver made him feel. It was certainly not a good feeling, he knew that much.

Ike thought he was actually being very clever when he decided to ask Soren to take care of the problem for him. It had worked with Aimee, so why not Oliver?

There were so many reasons, he later discovered.

But he didn’t discover them until later. The next time Oliver came calling, Ike had Soren at his side, ready to deflect like a pro.

“Oh, commander, let me gaze upon your sculpted visage, second only to mine own in pure beauty!” Oliver cried. Then he started drooling.

“Do your thing,” Ike whispered, and then he nudged Soren forward.

“Oh, Oliver,” Soren said, voice completely deadpan. “Your face is as lovely to look upon as the full moon but with even more craters. The top of your head shines like the finest silverware. Your physique is almost inhuman, and you can interpret that however you like. Yet woe is me, for your affections lie elsewhere. Or something.”

Oliver was immediately charmed. Ike was a little charmed, too; those were actually fairly generous compliments, coming from Soren.

“Who needs manly men when you can have girly boys?” Oliver cried with delight, clapping his hands together. “As if I wasn’t creepy enough! Hooray!”

Ike hadn’t expected it to work quite _that_ well – the intention had just been to distract Oliver long enough for him to get away; he wasn’t supposed to redirect those affections to Soren. He knew what was coming even before it happened. Oliver rushed forward, arms stretched out, and then he was knocked unconscious by a furious gust of wind. Soren slid his tome back into his robe, and then he was still.

“Oh,” Soren said quietly, a hint of panic to his voice. He turned, and his face was set in an expression of open distress. “What's happening? I’ve never felt this way before. I think...I think I'm angry with you. Why did you think that was a good idea? Why didn’t _I_ stop you?”

“Wait, have you seriously never been mad at me before?” Ike said. “That...doesn’t seem entirely healthy.”

“Nothing about me is healthy.”

“Your hair is pretty shiny?”

“I have never had a split end in my life.”

Then they both defected from their own army to join the disciples of Ashera, because clearly, the world was lacking in order.


	15. Walhart/Priam

“We’re really not all that different,” Priam said one day, sauntering into the training grounds as Walhart went through his usual drills. Walhart, of course, ignored him. Strength was everything, and Priam had gotten his wuss ass beat by Robin, of all people, and had therefore lost any right to speak with him. (Walhart had gotten his wuss ass beat by Chrom, and there was a subtle but important distinction there.)

“We both follow the path of the warrior,” Priam continued. “Both dedicated to becoming the strongest, to honing our bodies to the highest caliber, like a finely forged blade, the metal glinting in the sun, the weight of it heavy in your hands, an exquisite feeling, unlike anything else-”

Walhart had forgotten about Priam’s sword fetish. He decided to cut him off before the discussion became explicitly inappropriate, which had happened more than once before.

“Is there a point to all of this?” Walhart said.

Priam deflated a little at being interrupted, but then he sighed. “I mean to say, we’re two of kind, Walhart.”

“We are not,” Walhart said smugly. “For one thing, no one’s ever argued I wasn’t canon.”

“No, they just wish you weren’t,” Priam muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “Why don’t we settle this in a way we both understand: with an epic fight?”

“I really just want you to go away now,” Walhart said, but Priam wasn’t listening. With an annoyed grunt, he relented, and the two of them readied their weapons. They fought, and it was epic, and later they touched penises.

The end.


	16. Valter/Tommy Wiseau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With dialogue using only actual quotes from Valter and Tommy Wiseau.

Tommy Wiseau walked into the barracks with his usual swagger and raised his hand in greeting. “Hi, doggy,” he said.

“Hello,” Valter replied. Misunderstanding Tommy’s intentions, Valter reached out and high-fived him. Tommy responded violently.

“Don't touch me, motherfucker - geddout.”

“Urggh...Gaaaah!” Valter cried in offense. Tommy scoffed at his tone.

“Whatever, I don't care.”

Valter frowned and crossed his arms. He said, “If you swear fealty to Grado again, I may let you live. You don't want to die an oath breaker, do you? Well? Will you crawl before me and beg for forgiveness?”

“No, I can't. Anyway, how is your sex life?”

“Have you forgotten?” It hadn’t even been a full day, and Valter was terribly insulted by the implication that he was anything less than majestic in bed.

“Hahaha,” Tommy laughed robotically. It was very sexy, but also offensive.

“Why do you laugh, dolt?”

“I cannot tell you; it's confidential.”

“...Hmph. No reason for lies, seeing as you're nothing but a traitor.”

Tommy threw his hands up in the air in disgust, possibly, but sometimes it was difficult to decipher his emotions. “You betrayed me! You're not good. You, you're just a chicken. Chip-chip-chip-chip-cheep-cheep.”

Valter smirked. “What's this? A scurrying little mouse that roars like a lion? Are you saying this time will be different than the last? Will you finally provide me with some amusement?”

“That's the idea,” Tommy said. Ah, now they were on equal footing. Valter could play this game as well.

“Brave words from a traitor. Let's see if your ‘lance’ is as sharp as your tongue.”

“In a few minutes, bitch.”

“Yes, resist. It’s much more fun for me that way.”

“Absolutely. 8:00?”

“Mmm…”

* * *

In the deserts of Jehanna, Eirika’s army was fighting a fierce battle, soon to become fiercer. She stiffened at the sound of flapping wings and, catching sight of the leathery wyvern in the sky, braced herself for Valter’s arrival.

But when he landed, there was another man seated before him on his mount. A suspiciously similar but also somehow far more disturbing sort of creature, and it smiled grotesquely and said, “Hey, everybody! I have an announcement to make. We're expecting!”


	17. Xane/Genny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Xane's role in FE12.

Xane had gotten very bored between not being a dragon and then having canon rewritten to accommodate his continued existence. Being a shapeshifter was fun. Being a _dragon_ shapeshifter meant he had to do plot-type things, and that was a lot of effort he didn’t really care to expend.

So he took it upon himself to enjoy a quick vacation across the seas, to someplace called Valentia where all the dragons were dead and there was no one to tell him he had to go play guru to pantsless princes or putz around in an army for no pay.

It was in a Valentian port town that he met the love of his life.

He was taken with her at first sight, the cutest girl he’d ever seen, sitting under the shade of an orange tree and scribbling in a worn journal. He approached her maybe a little too hastily, and she looked up at him...and she was so clearly unimpressed that for the first time, Xane actually felt bad about himself. 

He tried to ask her out, but she smiled apologetically (and even that was cute, how was that fair?) and said, “Sorry, but you’re not really my type. I prefer...older gentlemen.”

And, well, Xane _really_ liked her. So he didn’t think it was dishonest at all for him to use his unique talents to warp reality just a little, just enough that they could be together. He cast a glance about the bustling port until he found the oldest man there, and before the girl’s eyes, he transformed.

“Father Nomah?!” she yelped.

“No, I’m Xane,” Xane said, thinking that line had sounded a lot more suave in his head. “Er, and you are?”

“Genny,” the girl said. Her eyes were big and she smiled cautiously. “Can you...stay like that for as long as you want?”

“I can stay like this for as long as you want, babe.”

Genny swooned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little known fact: dragons are sexually attracted to sheep.


	18. Sumeragi/Garon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Fates?

It was dark and cold and Sumeragi’s breath came out in short huffs as he raced through the back alleys of Krakenburg. He could hear Garon’s men not far behind, drowned out by only one other noise, and he held Corrin closer to his chest in an attempt to muffle the child’s cries.

“Quiet, little one,” he whispered as he ran, hoping his voice would soothe her. He darted between buildings, sticking close to the shadows as possible, unsure of his destination but certain the way back held only one end for him, and for his child.

Still, his efforts were in vain. He took a final turn out the mouth of the alley, only to come face to face with the king of Nohr, Garon, surrounded by a half dozen archers with their bows held at the ready. At the sight of him, they nocked their arrows, and Sumeragi turned his back to them in an attempt to shield Corrin.

But the attack was halted before it had even begun, and by a most unlikely source.

“Wait, stop!” Garon ordered. “We cannot do this thing, we can’t kill Sumeragi. I am just now realizing the potential for an extremely dark and angsty, probable sexual assault fantasy fic that some portions of the internet will _absolutely love_. We’re going to be internet famous, you guys!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Sumeragi said.

“There is a niche out there, and it needs to be filled.” Garon waggled his eyebrows. “By which I mean, I’m going to fill _your_ ni-”

“Stop, don’t, just take my kid and be done with it. KTHXBAI.”

Then he died.


	19. Forsyth sells his soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, it's the much dumber companion piece to that angsty torture fic that you definitely shouldn't read.

It wasn’t often that Alm’s army found itself in any serious trouble. Each battle was hard-fought and well-won, yes, but, well, “won” was the important bit there. Thanks to that fancy prophetic spinny thing the cleric had given Alm, there was pretty much no situation they couldn’t maneuver their way out of.

Except apparently every machine was prone to malfunctions, even ones blessed by the gods.

Forsyth was just in the middle of dying to another low-level fire spell slung by a witch, _again_ , when he heard a small popping noise, and suddenly he was no longer on the battlefield, but standing by a calm, blue pond. It was very peaceful, with ducks and everything.

An old man in a robe was throwing bread crumbs to the water fowl, and he looked up at Forsyth’s arrival.

“Well, that’s fucking weird,” the man said.

“No, you,” Forsyth answered. It was true: the man had strange, violet skin, pointed ears, and pitch-black eyes, and the hands throwing those bread crumbs were pretty gnarly, in his own honest opinion. “Can you tell me where I am?”

“Duma’s Retreat,” the man answered. “It’s a little resort town for Duma’s Most Faithful. Very exclusive. How did you get in? You look like someone who still has a soul.”

“What does someone without a soul look like?”

The man gestured up and down his own body. “So, yea, you know. What’s the deal here? Soul or no soul?”

“I’m pretty sure I have a soul,” Forsyth said. “I don’t remember losing it, anyway.”

“Yea, that makes sense,” the man said with a shrug. “Well, you’re here now, though, so can I interest you in a really spectacular, once-in-a-lifetime deal?”

“Perhaps,” Forsyth said. “What are you selling?”

“It’s really more what _you’re_ selling.”

“Is it my soul.”

“Yes.”

“No thanks.” Forsyth found himself slightly disappointed. He’d hoped the deal was maybe for a discount at a fancy restaurant or a super special legendary weapon at a low, low price. Either one would have been pretty cool.

“You should definitely sell your soul,” the man said. “There are lots of benefits. Like this resort. Isn’t it nice?”

“Well, yes,” Forsyth said, “but I don’t know that it’s sell-your-soul nice. I wouldn’t want to make a commitment like that lightly.”

“Ah, I see.” The man frowned. “Hold a moment, I’m going to go consult my colleagues.” He turned around and walked to the edge of the pond, kneeling down to stare at what seemed to be his own reflection. He chanted something and the water’s surface began to shimmer, and then he muttered, “Yes...well, yes, I tried that...no, he said he’s not-...really? You’re sure that will work?...Well, okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

He stood and turned back to face Forsyth, then cleared his throat. “Ahem,” he said. “I’ve just been informed that Sir Clive thinks you should definitely take this deal.”

“Sir Clive?” Forsyth repeated with excitement. “Well, he’s never made a poorly thought out decision he regretted almost immediately in his entire life! Let’s not talk about Alm!”

“I can’t believe that worked,” the man muttered, but Forsyth was too hyped to hear it. The man pulled a long scroll out of his robe and held it out. “I’m just gonna need you to sign here in blood to seal the deal.”

“Done and done!” Forsyth yelled, happily slicing his own finger open to comply. Once his signature was scrawled, his vision darkened for a split second and then righted itself. “What now?” he asked with anticipation.

“Um,” the man said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you...feel any different? A little empty? A little bloodthirsty?”

“Well, no, not really,” Forsyth said. “I suppose I’m a little hungry, but I have been since I saw you feeding those ducks. Can I have some of those bread crumbs?”

“No. You _really_ don’t feel any different? You don’t look any different, either…”

Forsyth thought a moment. There _was_ a voice yapping away at the back of his mind saying encouraging things like, _Kill all of your loved ones_ and _Set Mila’s churches on fire_ and _Buy nice things for Duma_ , but it was pretty easy to ignore, and he said so.

“Okay, that’s not normal,” the man said. “I’m going to need to consult with my colleagues again.” He turned around and started chatting with the pond again, and then he faced Forsyth with an annoyed expression. “So apparently we’ve just never tried the spell on someone as obnoxiously thick-headed as you before. Congratulations, you’re immune.”

“Do I still get Sir Clive’s approval?” Forsyth asked sadly.

“I don’t know how to respond to that,” the man answered.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Forsyth said, “Say, if we’re done here, do you think you could send me back to my friends now?”

“Maybe. Where were you before?”

“Killing Rigelians over by Fear Mountain.”

“Why would I send you back there? You were probably killing _my_ coworkers,” the man said with an exasperated look on his face.

“I was hoping the plot would compel you,” Forsyth answered.

“Well, it’s not.”

“Oh.”

They waited an awkward few minutes in silence before Forsyth heard a popping noise and suddenly found himself on the battlefield again.

“Oh, that’s convenient!” he said. Suddenly there were a number of people rushing to his side, asking what had happened and whether he was okay. It was all very flattering and confusing.

“I sold my soul, but apparently I’m immune to the effects because of my superhuman willpower,” he told everyone.

“Yea, no, that sounds about right,” Python said. Everyone else shrugged and nodded in agreement, except for Alm, who was otherwise distracted with a very lively conversation with the cleric named Silque. He was holding the spinny thing in his hand and waving it around wildly.

“Wait, Silque, you said this thing was just showing me _possible_ outcomes!” he yelled. “It’s actually been sending us back in time? You mean I’ve been resetting the timeline _every time I touched it_?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Silque said. “Was I unclear about that? Yes, you’ve essentially punched a few dozen holes in the fabric of reality, so please don’t be surprised if strange things start to happen.”

“A few dozen is a generous estimation,” Alm muttered as a small rabbit nearby miraculously grew to resemble a human-animal hybrid. “Okay, what the fuck is that?” he asked.

“I’m a taguel,” the bunny-thing said. “I’ve been here this whole time.”

“You most certainly have _not_.”

“I have now, motherfucker!” Then it twitched its nose and scurried off. Alm hoped it wouldn’t come back. Maybe it would go to another continent entirely and make itself someone else’s problem.

“This is all the Duma Faithful’s fault,” he moaned. “If they didn’t keep throwing witches at Forsyth, I never would have had to reset reality, and all this weird shit never would have happened. Fuck the Duma Faithful!”

And so it was.


	20. Delthea+Elise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Birthright.

Askr was an interesting place. Delthea decided that pretty much the moment she arrived in Askr Castle, met by a pair of bubblegum-haired siblings and what was apparently a person-shaped overcoat named Kiran. (Kiran was an interesting one - Delthea couldn’t say whether they were a boy or a girl, not even from their voice, which was really all she had to go on since they refused to lower the hood of that ridiculous coat.)

“Oh, who’s this one?” Sharena had squealed the moment Delthea appeared in the Summoning Circle. She’d been nearly bouncing with excitement, which was flattering and also entirely appropriate, Delthea thought, given that she’d just been graced by the presence of such a talented and cute young mage.

“She’s Delthea, from the World of Shadows,” Alfonse had replied. “Gods, Sharena, she _just_ introduced herself. You’re such an embarrassment. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go stand in the corner and mutter angrily.”

While he did that, Delthea had asked, “So where exactly am I, anyway?”

That was when Kiran had explained the Summoning process, sort of, except Delthea didn’t understand any of the logistics other than that it sounded suspiciously like gambling. All she knew was that one moment she’d been enjoying the high life in Zofia, and the next, she was part of a magic ritual in another world.

It was kind of an inconvenience, but according to Kiran, if _they_ hadn’t summoned her, some kid from a rival kingdom called Emblia would have done it and forced her to do her evil bidding. Or something. Whatever it was, it sounded kinda mind-control-y, and Delthea had had more than enough of that for one lifetime, thank you very much. 

Anyway, the Askr duo only asked her to fight every once in a while, and the rest of the time, she got to kick around the castle and do pretty much whatever she wanted, and Delthea wasn’t going to complain about that. All in all, it was a pretty sweet life. The only thing really missing was-

 _Nah_ , she thought. It was a pretty sweet life, and that’s all there was to it. People here appreciated her and her talents just the way she was, and no one ever scolded her or told her to get back to practicing.

That was just the way she liked it, and things were going pretty well until the day Delthea caught wind of some new rumors flying around the castle.

“Have you heard about that new mage?” Yes, Delthea thought, feeling pleased with herself. It had been a few weeks since her arrival, but it was only right that people were still excited about her.

“She’s just so cute, and strong besides!” That was also objectively true. She was pretty much the cutest and strongest girl she knew!

“Oh, I know the Summoner’s been trying to find her for ages now, so it’s just a relief she’s finally here.” Wow, had Kiran really been _that_ desperate for her company? Not that she blamed him. Her. It.

“And with her here, the Horse Meta is finally complete!” Yea, that was pretty- wait, what? Horses? “Oh, it’s just so wonderful to finally have Elise here!”

Well, that just wouldn’t do. Delthea decided that whoever this Elise kid was, she’d regret trying to mess with the best mage in Askr.

Fortunately, the usurper was not difficult to find. It was as simple and infuriating as following the excited gossip through the castle until it led her to a garden, where a young girl in pigtails and a frilly dress was sitting by a fountain. _Pigtails!_ That just wasn’t fair!

Delthea wasted no time in marching up to her, hands on her hips, and announcing herself with, “Just who do you think you are?”

The girl looked up at her and smiled, and it made her eyes sparkle a little and that was just _super_ unfair. “I’m Elise,” she said, and godsdammit, even her voice was cute! Delthea sneered.

“Alright, toots, I dunno what kind of game you’re playing, but you can knock it off right now. There’s only room for _one_ hyper-powerful cute mage girl in this castle, and her name is Delthea!”

“Who’s Delthea?” Elise asked, head tilted, and Delthea wanted to punch her.

“ _I’m_ Delthea! Don’t play dumb with me!” The girl stared at her blankly, like a stupid puppy, except puppies were cute and this was really getting out of hand. “You seriously need to stop,” Delthea said. “Like, I get it: you’re a cute kid, whatever. Knock it off with the shiny eyes.”

“I’m an adult,” Elise said.

“You fucking are not,” Delthea replied.

“No, I totally am!” Elise said. “...Technically. Whatever that means.”

Delthea thought it over. So Elise wasn’t _technically_ in competition for the precocious brat position...but what about magic?

“I bet I’m way stronger than you,” Delthea said. “Like, my attack stat is through the roof. What have you got?”

“I can heal people,” Elise said. “That’s helpful, right?”

“Wait...wait, wait, wait! You’re...a healer? You’re not even really a mage?”

“I think that depends on who you ask-”

“You’re not even a mage.” Delthea sat down next to Elise and sighed, loudly. “Okay, now I feel dumb, getting all worked up over nothing. We aren’t even sort of in competition. Oh, brother…”

“Yes, let’s talk about brothers,” Elise said.

“What a perfectly natural segue that was,” Delthea replied. “Yes, let’s.”

Elise continued her perpetual smile and said, “Brothers are great, aren’t they? I have two or possibly three big brothers, and even though they can be real pains sometimes, I love them a lot.”

Delthea snorted. “Ha, you wanna talk about big brothers being pains? I swear, I can’t do _anything_ without Lu complaining about it! ‘Delthea, aren’t you supposed to be practicing?’ ‘Delthea, you can’t set that on fire.’ ‘Where’s my cat, Delthea? _Oh god, what did you do to my cat, Delthea?!’_ It’s like, just _shut up_ for once, Lu! Let me do my thing!”

“Xander makes me train sometimes too,” Elise said. “But I guess I understand why. He really just wants what’s best for us.”

“Wait, wait, your brother is _Xander_?” Delthea said. “Studly-blonde-on-a-horse Xander? I don’t know what _you’re_ complaining about! That guy’s, like, Mila’s gift to women! Does he even _have_ flaws?”

“Well, there was that one time he killed me.”

“What.”

“Yep, stabbed me right through the chest! It was kind of awkward. We don’t like to talk about it.”

“Okay, but can we, though, because that sounds kind of-”

“Moving right along!” Elise smiled brightly. “BROTHERS SURE ARE GREAT, AREN’T THEY.”

“I think I want to leave now.”

The end.


	21. conrad fuck boey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is the prompt. Spoilers for Conrad's whole dealio.

It was very dashing, the way the mysterious masked knight swooped in to save Celica from the landslide on the road between Zofia Castle and the harbor.

It was considerably less dashing when his efforts resulted in a rock to the face, a broken mask, and an unconscious ginger hanging awkwardly off the saddle of a very confused horse. The way Celica managed to stick the landing when she tumbled out of his arms was kind of impressive, though. Very catlike. They all applauded politely.

Now, after the rockfall ended, the group of them managed to pull the rider to the ground, and Celica wrung her hands nervously as Genny attempted to heal him. The glowing light from her healing magic began to fade, and they all let out a collective sigh of relief when the man blinked slowly and began to sit up.

Unfortunately, he didn’t stop there. He sat up, and then he got to his feet and progressed to a bizarre crouch, leaning forward with his knuckles digging into the ground. What had once been a very pretty face contorted into a sort of comical grimace, and his gaze darted wildly between each of their faces before his own settled into a suspicious glare.

“Who you?” he grunted, voice coming out as a low rumble.

“Wha-? I’m Celica,” Celica said. She took a cautious step towards him, then jumped back in surprise when he let out a warning growl. “That is quite uncalled for!” she said sternly. “And just who do you think _you_ are?!”

“Me Conrad,” the man said. He lifted one hand off the ground and used it to beat his own chest. Then he pointed to Celica. “You Celica?”

But the girl was only staring in horror now, frantically muttering obscenities. After a few minutes of that, with Conrad crouched to the ground, Celica going through what appeared to be some sort of breakdown, and the rest of the army watching uncomfortably, Genny coughed to break the tension.

“Um...is everything okay, Celica?” she asked.

“I think that’s my brother,” Celica groaned. “I think that’s my brother, and I think he’s got brain damage.”

“Oh, most definitely,” Genny said with a sweet smile. “Actually, just at a glance, I can tell you he’s suffering from Regressive Caveman Syndrome. I read about it in one of Father Nomah’s books. It’s really quite common in these situations.”

“Okay, first of all, that sounds completely made up,” Celica said. “Second of all, how common could it possibly be for someone to get thunked in the face by a falling rock during an impromptu rescue mission?”

“Common enough to write a book about, at least.”

“I am suspicious of this claim.”

The argument was sidelined, however, when Conrad began making angry noises. His horse, which had wandered off at some point, had suddenly returned and attempted to approach its rider. Said rider did not take it well. He bared his teeth at the beast, which regarded him with mild interest before neighing softly.

Conrad started yelling again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Celica muttered. “This is going to be a problem. I can’t very well leave him here, now can I? Not after he saved me…”

Her entire group watched Conrad, who was circling the horse, waving his arms and and making threatening noises at it. None of them was sure how best to proceed.

It was Boey who eventually sighed and marched over to the enraged man, whistling sharply to get his attention. Conrad stopped his raving long enough to glance at him suspiciously, and Boey crossed his arms.

“Stop it,” he said simply.

And Conrad did. He was quiet for a moment, and then he looked quickly between the horse and Boey before striding (on all fours) to stand before the other man. He looked up, eyes narrowed.

“Who you?” he asked again.

Boey pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before saying, “Me Boey, you Conrad, and so on and so forth, now let’s get a move on.”

Miraculously, that worked, and Conrad ceased...whatever it was he was trying to accomplish with the horse. He followed the group obediently out of the mountain pass and into the port. When Celica attempted to ditch him there, he somehow caught wise and managed to rejoin them as they scurried away under the cover of night, and at that point, she resigned herself to fate.

Conrad was actually fairly useful in a fight, fortunately, even if the joy he found in clubbing pirates’ brains in was a little unsettling. Most of the group was able to ignore it, because he really spent most of his time tailing Boey, whom he’d taken a shine to. He had the oddest habit of presenting the mage with ‘battle trophies’. The better ones were damaged armor or weaponry, which of course Boey had no use for, but he still preferred them over the not-nearly-rare-enough dismembered body parts. (Alas, no amount of scolding seemed to impress his disgust upon Conrad, who continued to deliver with astounding efficiency.)

The gifts were strange, but it took weeks before Boey finally understood their meaning. He learned it firsthand the night he was rudely awakened by someone shoving at his shoulder. Disgruntled, he sat up, only to be met with the sight of Conrad, who had divested himself of his pants, pointing proudly downward at his own anatomy.

“Conrad fuck Boey?” he asked enthusiastically.

“Absolutely not,” Boey replied with a glare. He turned away, lied back down, and closed his eyes. It was only moments before Conrad was pushing at his shoulder again, and he sat back up feeling very close to actual anger.

“What?!” he spat out.

“Conrad fuck Boey,” Conrad repeated, apparently confused by the rejection.

“Conrad go fuck himself,” Boey suggested. Conrad shook his head. Boey sighed. He thought for a moment. Frankly, if Conrad wasn’t going to leave him alone no matter what he did, he supposed he might as well try to negotiate a more beneficial arrangement.

“Boey fuck Conrad,” he offered.

Conrad tilted his head as if considering the prospect, and then, after a long moment, nodded solemnly.

“Boey fuck Conrad,” he repeated.

Then Boey fucked Conrad. It was underwhelming.


	22. Mae and Boey switch bodies

Boey kicked at the pebbles by the river dejectedly. Yet another battle to the death, the fate of all Zofia on the line, and Celica had ordered him to the sidelines. Again.

He looked over to the battlefield, where his allies were fighting tooth and nail to hold a barrage of Terrors at bay. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to fight Terrors, because _ew, Terrors_ , but it was rather emasculating to be the _only_ one who wasn’t allowed on the field. And Celica wouldn’t even tell him why, just said he had to go and that it was for the best.

Well, he wouldn’t let that stand any more.

When the battle was finished and they set up camp, he marched over to Celica and demanded an explanation.

“I set out on this journey to protect you, milady, and that’s very difficult when you order me away from every battle,” he said. Celica shifted uncomfortably.

“Listen, Boey, I understand what you’re trying to do, but…” She trailed off and looked away awkwardly.

“But what? Lady Celica, if there’s something I’ve done wrong-”

“No, it’s not that, exactly, it’s just...you’re a very dear friend. And I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse.”

That was all very flattering, he supposed, but it made little sense. “If that’s the case, why only me? You allow Mae to fight. You even encourage Genny! Why me, and not them?”

“I don’t have to worry about them,” Celica said quietly. Boey gasped. The betrayal!

“Are you calling me weak, milady?”

“Oh, Boey,” she said sadly. And then she turned and walked away. Boey cried.

* * *

Mae was in her tent, minding her own business, when Boey came barging in like a classless fool. She was going to yell at him, but she stopped when she noticed the puffiness around his eyes. She sighed.

“Were you crying again?”

“No!” Boey shouted defensively. “I don’t cry. Crying is for losers. What even is crying?”

“Uh huh,” Mae said. Just this once, she was willing to let it go. “So what do you want, anyway?”

Boey made a dramatic pained noise, and then he said, “I need your help.”

Mae’s immediate thought was that this was going to be delicious. Boey _never_ asked her for help. It was always the other way around: him expecting that _she_ would need _his_ help (not that she ever actually did). She grinned slyly.

“Oh? My help with what, exactly?” Boey muttered something too low for her to hear. “Speak up,” she said. 

He whimpered and said, “I need your help with magic.”

_Delicious._

“Oh yea? You finally admitting I’m the better mage?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Boey said, suddenly perking up. “You know, I’m actually very capable. I can do things even _you_ can’t; I just need more experience.”

“That’s nice, but you can’t get any experience when you’re dead. Which is what Celica’s afraid will happen every time you step out onto the battlefield.”

“Precisely,” Boey said, deflating a little. “And that’s where you come in! You see, I know there’s something I’m missing! I just need to...to _feel_ it.”

“‘Feel’ it? Really? That sounds like some hippy dippy bullshit to me.”

“I think ‘hippy dippy’ is an anachronism.”

“You’re an anachronism. How am I supposed to help with this?”

“Well, you see, I was thinking about it, and I realized: you already know how these advanced spells feel. So if I could feel what _you_ feel…”

“You want us to have some kind of empathic connection? You wanna do a Vulcan Mind Meld?” Mae put her hands on her hips and eyed Boey skeptically.

“No, that sounds complicated,” he said. “I just thought we’d switch bodies for a bit.”

“Hooooold up,” Mae said. “You can’t cast a damn Thunder spell, but you know magic that will let us switch bodies?”

“Yes,” Boey replied.

“That is completely believable and I have no further questions,” Mae said. “Work your magic.”

“Sti a sdrawkcab lleps ekil Sanazi lyno sti wohemos yllautca rebmud,” Boey chanted. “Ydob hctiws og!”

Mae felt a sickening disturbance in the force, and then she blinked and found herself staring right back at her own face. She gasped.

“I’m so pretty!” The voice that came out was far too low to be her own. With a startled jump, she looked down and realized she was very much a man now. Her first instinct, of course, was to reach between her legs and cop a feel.

“Bad touch! Bad touch!” her own voice shouted back. Mae looked up and decided she was pretty cute when she blushed.

“Oh, calm down,” she said. “It’s all over the clothes, it’s totally fine.”

“It is not!” Boey cried. “You are violating my body! How would you feel if I just started touching _your_ body all over?!”

And then Mae was blushing, which was totally unfair because _phrasing_ , but also totally weird because it was _her_ voice saying it, and now she was just super confused.

“I want to switch back now,” she said morosely.

“In a moment,” Boey muttered. He closed his eyes and hummed a little, then snapped his fingers.

The tilting sensation came back, and then Mae was back in her own body with her own lady parts and she was still kind of miffed, but at least she wasn’t confused.

“That seemed like a complete waste of time,” she said.

“Not at all,” Boey replied smugly. “I’m now absolutely positive I can cast the Thunder spell.” He strode outside of the tent confidently and Mae followed, mostly because she couldn’t think of any reason not to. Outside, Boey looked off into the distance, took a deep breath, and shot off a perfect Thunder spell.

He spun around to face her, a grin on his face.

“Now Celica will let me back in the army!” he cheered.

Mae looked at him sadly.

“Oh, Boey,” she said. “It’s sad that you think you’re suddenly useful because you can cast a spell I’ve known from the start. Come back when you figure out Sagittae.”

And then she turned and walked away. Boey cried.


	23. Sumia cucks Mae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weirdly Specific Prompt: "On Boey's birthday, Mae dresses as a catgirl to make him a surprise, but she is too dumb to notice that her clothes are a camilla catgirl cosplay. Turned off by her shit waifu clothes, Boey escapes with Sumia"

Boey was feeling unusually confident as he returned to his tent that night. It was his birthday, and for once, everything was going just right. They hadn’t fought any Terrors, Celica had complimented the way he handled himself in battle, and no one had insulted him once today!

He frowned as he opened the flap to his tent, considering that. It had actually been a little dull, now that he thought about it. What had been off?

“Welcome back,” a sultry voice said, and Boey nearly leaped out of his skin before he smiled. _That._ That was what was missing: Mae.

He looked up, ready to greet her, only to let out a horrified shriek instead.

That was Mae, yes, but dressed in a manner most unbecoming! Her usual get-up was replaced with an absurdly revealing and impractically spiky black armor top and battle thong, her hands were covered in bizarre claw-like gloves, her boots reached up to her thighs, and worst of all, she was wearing what appeared to be cat ears and a tail.

“Why the fuck are you dressed like a cat?” he asked once his shock had worn off.

“Do you...not like it?” Mae said, frowning. “I thought guys liked this kind of stuff.”

“I do not like it, Sam I Am. I do not like catgirls, my fam.”

“Oh…” Mae looked away sadly. “Sorry, I guess. I was just trying to do something nice for you.”

“It backfired,” Boey said with disgust. “I can’t even look at you. Get out of my tent. I just...I can’t right now. Leave.”

Mae looked at him, tears in her eyes. “Wait!” she cried. “What if I take off the cat ears?”

“The cat ears aren’t really the problem,” Boey admitted.

“Wait, what?! Then what...what’s your deal, Boey?!”

“I’m sorry, your outfit is just...not subtle at all. You don’t look like a real woman, you look like a horny teenager’s _fantasy _of a woman.”__

“But you _are_ a horny teenager! So am I! That’s why we work so well together!” 

“Yes, but I’m a horny teenager with _class_ ,” Boey said. “This just isn’t doing anything for me. Aren’t you cold without pants? And isn’t that top...uncomfortable?” 

“I don’t actually wear pants anyway,” Mae said. “And this cleavage thing is actually less painful than that weird boob-plate that’s pretty much molded to my chest. I raised my arms to yawn the other day, and it, like, pushed the damn thing into my sternum. It fucking hurt. I’ll take tits-out over tits-smushed any day.” 

“That’s fair,” Boey said, “but it doesn’t really change my mind.” 

Mae crossed her arms. “Oh yea? Where are you gonna find another girl better than me?” 

The tent flap opened again and a long-haired brunette wandered in, a confused smile on her face. 

“Hi, my name is Sumia, and I travelled here by way of Plot Convenience,” she said. She pointed to Boey. “We’re in love now.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Boey said. 

Mae let out a frustrated cry. “What the hell, Boey? We’ve been friends our whole lives; we have actual chemistry; we’re like, the perfect fictional couple! We’re a fandom darling! You can’t just walk away from that!” 

Sumia shrugged. “Come with me and I’ll bake you a pie,” she said. 

In the end, the choice was easy...and the pie were delicious. 


	24. Mae isn't real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "mae is boey's ambien hallucination"
> 
> Spoilers for Celica's past.

Novis Priory was a real change of pace for Celica.

She’d been so happy in Ram Village, even though she’d been reluctant at first. Starting over in a new place after all of that was scary, but she tried not to slip back into the closed-off girl she’d been back before Alm.

All the same, it was different. Father Nomah was as kindly as Grandpapa Mycen, but he laughed more and told a lot of jokes. There were two other children, too: a shy girl named Genny and a serious boy named Boey. They were...nice, Celica thought, but a little hard to approach. Genny rarely spoke, and Boey always looked a tad intense.

But she tried her best, and the three of them became fast friends. They all took a magic class together with Father Nomah, and it was a lot of fun. Celica picked it up quickly, and she enjoyed her new talents, and her new friends, and she thought her life was pretty swell, considering she’d watched everyone she loved get burned alive just a little over a year ago.

(But, like, it was still pretty swell, all things considered. It probably could have been worse.)

One afternoon, she left class to find her new friends, and she bumped into Genny first, lingering in the hallway. The girl was fidgeting oddly, peeking around the corner and then humming curiously.

“What are you doing?” Celica asked.

“Oh, nothing unusual,” Genny said. “Just watching Boey lose his mind, I think.”

“That sounds _extremely_ unusual,” Celica said. She peered around the corner and saw what Genny had been so distracted by: there was Boey, gesticulating wildly and arguing with thin air. That was at least mildly concerning, and she said so.

“Oh, not really,” Genny said. “He’s just having one of his hallucinations. It’s a side effect of the spell Father Nomah has to use to get him to sleep at night.”

“Wow, I’m even more concerned now,” Celica said.

“Don’t be, it’s totally normal! See, Boey gets stressed out really easily and it leads to insomnia. Father Nomah couldn’t think of a way to fix the problem - or possibly he just didn’t care, I forget - so he just started using a specialized sleep spell to cure Boey’s insomnia.”

“How long has he had this problem?”

“A while. It comes and goes.” Genny brought a hand up to her chin, thinking. “I guess it’s really all your fault this time, though. It’s because you’re such a natural with magic. Now Boey is stressing out and studying too hard, trying to catch up, and it’s making his insomnia worse. Way to go, you.”

“Well, now I just feel awful,” Celica said. “Maybe if I talk to him, we can figure things out.”

Genny shrugged. “Yea, I don’t really care, but have fun with that.”

She left, and Celica approached Boey, who was still caught in an animated conversation with absolutely nothing.

“Um, Boey?” she said cautiously. “Hello?”

He turned around and grinned brightly. “Oh, Celica!” he said. “I’d like you to meet my friend, Mae. She’s our age, and she studies here, but she says you’ve never met. How crazy is that?”

“Crazy is an apt word for it,” Celica muttered. She cleared her throat. “Uh, Boey, please don’t freak out but...there’s no one there.”

He continued to smile. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re talking to air, here. There is no Mae. She does not exist.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Mae is _right here_ ,” Boey insisted. “She’s cute and energetic and she likes me and she has pink hair and a really nice rack and-” He paused. “Son of a bitch, she’s not real, is she?”

“I’m afraid not,” Celica said.

“You’ve ruined all my dreams,” Boey told her. “Now I have nothing to live for.”

“Oops,” Celica said.

In the coming years, Boey slowly lost his faith in the world, Genny continued to not care, and Celica eventually was forced to set out on her quest to save the world alone. She didn’t make it very far.

The end.


	25. Gaius/Maribelle/Vaike NTR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey cesau  
> Rite me a ntr fic pls"

“Oh boy, candy sure is great,” Gaius said as he skipped down the halls of Castle Ylisse. “I sure do love candy and also have other character traits, probably. That's why my highborn wife Maribelle agreed to marry me in the first place, I bet. Because I'm so charming and well-rounded as a character!”

Grinning, he thought back to when he had first proposed to Maribelle. It was a shame he couldn't actually remember any of it, because he was pretty sure it had actually been fairly touching and somehow involved her ambition to become a magistrate or something. He'd probably written the details down somewhere, but it seemed like a lot of effort to look them up, so he was content to pretend like it had been a super touching moment and leave it at that.

“Yep, candy and being happily married sure are great,” he said again. He pulled a lollipop out of one of his improbable belts and slipped it in his mouth, pushing open the doors to his and Maribelle's shared bedchambers.

“Honey, I'm home!” he called. “Get it? Because honey is sweet and I like sweets, and I swear there's more to me than that but it is just escaping me completely right now.”

There was no answer. Frowning, Gaius surveyed the room before him, surprised to find it empty. Lately, Maribelle had been spending a lot of time confined to their quarters, studying for the medieval fantasy equivalent of the bar exam. She'd been especially focused since Brady's birth, frequently citing her studies as the reason she didn't have any time to spend with her husband. Of course, being a very understanding husband and generally ridiculous person, Gaius saw no problem with this.

He stepped back out into the hall, curious. When a serving girl came bustling by, he stopped and asked if she had seen his wife, to which she rolled her eyes and pointed down the hall.

“Try the second door to your right, medieval-fantasy-equivalent-of-Sherlock,” she said.

Ignoring the girl's snippy tone, Gaius followed her instructions. As he approached the door, he heard what might have been suspiciously amorous sounds, except it obviously was not that because Maribelle was in there and Gaius was out here, and Maribelle was not nearly enough fun to be doing anything amorous on her own.

Convinced that was the case, Gaius didn't bother knocking. He simply pushed the door open and announced himself again.

“Honey, I'm barging into someone else's home!” he called. Then he stopped, mouth dropping open, lollipop hitting the floor with a light clatter.

There was his lovely wife, in bed with another! The treachery! The betrayal! The...the confusion, mostly, really.

“Well, shit,” Maribelle said, kicking her partner off the bed and pulling the sheets up to cover herself. “Gaius, what are you doing here? And before you ask, yes, this is exactly what it looks like.”

“You're just supposed to a regular bitch, not a two-timing bitch,” Gaius said with a pout, crossing his arms. From behind the bed came a low groan, and the person who had been defiling his wife slowly rose, rubbing the back of his head. “Wait...is that Vaike?”

Maribelle sighed. “I know, it must come as a terrible surprise to be cucked like this.”

“Well, yea, I guess, but I just mean...Vaike? Huh.” Gaius looked away awkwardly.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Maribelle huffed.

“No, I guess it's just, I always thought it would be, like, Lissa or something. Or, you know, another woman in general, to be honest.”

“First of all, just because I find you utterly unappealing doesn't mean I'm a lesbian,” Maribelle said. “Second of all, Lissa and I are just very romantic friends.”

“Wait...so are you cheating on me with Lissa, too, or...?”

“We're _just_ romantic friends,” Maribelle repeated, as if that clarified anything.

“Alright, we'll come back to that later,” Gaius said. “Anyway...how could you?! Does the sanctity of marriage mean nothing to you?! We have a _kid_ together, Maribelle!”

“Eh...” His wife bit her lip and tilted her head. “Well, I mean... _I_ have a son. _You_ , on the other hand...”

“Brady isn't my son?!”

“Gaius, he looks nothing like you.”

“Wait...” Vaike, who had been quiet up until this point, held up a hand. He squinted his eyes, and then he gasped. “Is Brady _my_ son?!”

Maribelle rolled her eyes. “Vaike, he looks just like you. He _talks_ just like you. He makes the same stupid faces as you...unfortunately.” She sighed. “Did you...did you two really never make that connection? This might be more reasonable if we only had the baby to go off of, but we've got the adult version running around the castle, too. Of course he's Vaike's!”

“How long has this been going on?” Gaius cried. “Was our entire marriage a lie?!”

_“I have a son?!”_ Vaike cried.

“Okay, you're both being completely hysterical,” Maribelle said calmly. “I'm going to go find Lissa. _She_ never does this to me.”

And none of their questions were ever answered.


	26. Whitewings=Mean Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "the whitewings laugh at their half-naked comrades" (and then there was something about FEH!Anna's photo collection, I think)

“Catria, Est!” Palla called, wandering through the halls of Askr Castle. She'd seen the two of them rushing by earlier, though she hadn't had the chance to ask what their excitement had been for. That was the usual state of affairs for Est, at least, but it was an odd look on Catria.

When she found them lurking in a nearby storeroom, they still wore those exuberant expressions, and Palla tried to hide her smile. It was always nice to see her little sisters at their brightest, especially when they so often seemed to be surrounded by fighting.

“What are you two up to?” she asked. They startled a bit at her voice, apparently engrossed in the book they held between them. Catria flushed red to the tips of her ears and pulled the book away, hiding it behind her back.

“Nothing at all, Palla!” she said quickly, voice a little higher than usual. She nudged Est, who yelped.

“R-right!” Est cried. “Nothing at all!”

How strange, the two of them trying to hide something from her. Palla placed her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows. She fixed her face in the sternest big sister look she could manage, and the two of them wilted.

“Resist!” Catria hissed to Est, elbowing her in the side.

 _“But she's so scary,”_ Est whined.

So close! Palla switched tactics, shifting instead into her disappointed mom look. Even Catria had never mastered the art of ignoring that one. Her sisters shuffled uncomfortably for a full minute before Est finally broke.

“Oh, fine!” she cried. “Catria, just give her the book! It's not worth it!”

Catria shook her head in disappointment, but she relinquished the book she'd been hiding behind her back. Palla looked at its cover, but it was empty. She curiously flipped to the first page, and she gasped softly.

“Oh, my,” she said. “This is...rather risque! Oh dear, we never did have 'the talk', did we? I suppose you two are at that age, though-”

“Palla, I'm twenty years old,” Catria said.

Palla paused. “Okay, I might not be as good a sister as I thought. Est, how old are _you?_ ”

“Sixteen,” she chirped happily.

_“Oh my gods you're sixteen years old and I let you move in with your boyfriend.”_

While Palla had a minor mental breakdown, Catria coughed. “A-anyway, it's nothing dirty,” she said. “It's just the commander's picture collection. Those are pictures of our allies in swimwear; it's perfectly innocent.”

Palla looked at her sister skeptically and flipped through a few pages. She winced. “Is this...is this _Tiki?_ _Our_ Tiki? _Little girl_ Tiki?”

“No, it's okay, she's an adult there,” Est said.

“And apparently no one ever taught her about bra sizes,” Palla muttered. “That top looks much too small, and extremely uncomfortable.”

“Yes, that does seem to be a running theme,” Catria admitted.

Palla closed the book with a sigh. “So, what, you two were hiding out back here to look at pictures of our allies in their smallclothes?”

“Swimwear,” Catria corrected. She looked away. “And, well, sort of. Apparently the commander's been approaching some of the people from our world, too, and we were a little curious...”

Palla had to admit that she was, too. She flipped the book back open, starting with the first page this time. She was greeted by a picture of the Askrian siblings, Alfonse and Sharena, smiling on a beach. Well, the girl was smiling, anyway. The boy's expression was really more of a scowl.

“He's kind of skinny, isn't he?” Palla said, wondering distantly when, exactly, they'd found the time to visit a beach. Also, where they'd found a beach. Her sisters walked over to either side of her and looked over her shoulder at the book. Catria hummed.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said. “Let's face it: it's not like he gets a lot of exercise.”

“Sharena's awful cute, though, isn't she?” Est said. “Gosh, it's almost like she was designed specifically to cater to a certain demographic, from the bubbly personality to the short skirt to the colorful hair...”

“You're not really one to talk,” Catria pointed out, and Est went quiet.

“Moving along,” Palla said. She turned to the next page, which only contained the text 'World of Shadows'. “Oh, is this our group?” She flipped the page, to be met with a picture of Marth in a pair of long board-shorts.

“Prince Marth is looking good!” Est cheered. Catria suddenly looked very interested, and she hurried to catch a glimpse herself. Palla was first amused by her uncharacteristic enthusiasm, then surprised at how quickly it passed.

“Oh...” Catria looked almost crestfallen, excitement deflated at once. “He's wearing more pants than I was expecting.”

They turned through the next few pages, nothing particularly interesting catching their eyes. Then they saw a head of long, red hair, and the prince of Macedon was glaring back at them, looking as angry as ever in spite of his state of undress and the pool floatie at his side. The toy didn't even reach his hip.

“By the gods, he's tall,” Catria muttered. “It's almost disgusting.”

“It's Michalis,” Est pointed out. “He's _always_ disgusting.”

“Minerva looks much better,” Palla said when she'd turned to the next page. Her sisters nodded in agreement, deciding their liege pulled off the angsty look in a much more appealing manner. The next page showed Maria, wearing a thankfully modest sundress, and they also all agreed that she was a top-tier little sister.

None of them were in any way prepared for the image after that, however. The moment the page was turned, there was silence, and then Palla ventured quietly, “Is that...us?”

It was: the picture showed all three Whitewings, smiling happily and wearing anachronistic and revealing two-piece swimsuits. Admittedly, they looked very good, but they still had great cause for concern.

“I don't remember this,” Est said nervously.

“I swear this never happened,” Catria added.

“This...can't be us,” Palla concluded. “Good gods, where is she getting these pictures?!”

It turned out to have been an alternate universe all along, and the ensuing existential dread consumed all of the castle's inhabitants until they were driven mad by the revelation. Their anguished howls echoed through the empty halls, not a single soul spared the torturous pull of uncertainty. None could say what was real, and what was waifu. The end, when it came, was welcomed, and they all laid down and died, grateful to slip the chains of an unsure mortality at last.

It was pretty spooky.


	27. HULK and MARTH play CHESS on the MOON and it's RAINING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "HULK, playing CHESS, in a GLASS MANSION, against MARTH, and its RAINING, but theyre on the MOON. also the eniter shadow dragon cast/avenger cat is there watching"
> 
> Happy birthday, Snow, and also what the fuck

As the rain beat against the glass windows (set in the glass walls built upon the glass floors covering the glass foundation of the glass mansion that was lit entirely by glass chandeliers and decorated, at one point, in glass furnishings, but more recently only in glass shards), the peculiar green-skinned beast stroked his chin, eyes narrowed.

He sat rather daintily, cross-legged, in a chair of glass – much too small for a creature of his large size, and it creaked dangerously under his weight, but any risk was ignored in pursuit of his noble goal. Before him stood a round glass table, and in the glass chair his opposite sat a finely dressed prince.

All around them lay evidence of the length of their meeting. It had begun hours ago, before the rain had begun to fall, and since then the green man had shattered a great many glass things in frustration. The two had met in the first place to conduct a gentlemanly game of chess at the Hulk's request.

Why he'd sought the Altean prince was something of a mystery, considering the two came from completely different universes and really had no way of knowing each other. All the same, the Hulk recognized an educated man when he saw one, and this Prince Marth certainly was one of those. _What a rush could be gained from a game of strategy with a nobleman!_ , thought the Hulk. Only he was the Hulk, so it really came out more like, _Hulk crush puny girl-man with Hulk BIG BRAIN. YES GOOD._

This assessment proved to be somewhat presumptuous, as the Hulk had had very little luck in actually winning anything. Forty-seven matches in, and the little prince was beginning to grow cocky at his obvious advantage. They had also gone through forty-seven chess sets, because the Hulk, in his anger, tended to destroy his surrounding upon each fresh loss. They were all glass chess sets, by the way.

Now, the Hulk gazed out the window as he contemplated his next move. The vast blackness of space really would have made him think, if he were more inclined toward that activity. (Also the glass mansion is on the moon.) Meanwhile, Marth coughed politely – it had been nearly ten minutes since his last move, and he was growing impatient. Hulk grunted.

“B-52 to F-0,” he decided.

“That is definitely not a chess move,” Marth said.

“Hulk know chess. Hulk good at chess.”

Marth sighed. He looked to the far corner of the room, where the Hulk's companions, a superhero team referred to as the Avengers, stood bickering among themselves.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but might you speak to your teammate about the rules of chess? There seems to be some confusion. None of his moves make any logical sense.”

“You're playing chess with the Hulk on the moon in a glass fucking mansion,” Iron Man said. “What part of any of this makes sense?”

Captain America looked slightly pained as he agreed, “Tony has a point: this is all pretty out there. And to be honest, we're kind of dealing with our own problems right now. None of seems to know what part of the timeline we're in. We think we're maybe supposed to be fighting each other right now? It's all very confusing. And we're comic book heroes, so when it comes to confusing, we know what we're talking about. Sorry, but we don't really have time for crossover chess shenanigans. Maybe try the X-Men?”

Unfortunately, Marth did not have their number. The Avenger Cat was also no help.

“Fine then,” Marth said, displeased with this answer. If the Hulk's companions wouldn't offer any aid, he would simply have to turn to his own allies. Standing on the other side of the room was the entire cast of Shadow Dragon, including all the characters who can't be unlocked unless you're cruel or stupid enough to kill of most of the playable characters.

“I beg your aid, my dear friends,” Marth said. “How do I impress upon my foe that he is being a fuckwit?”

The entire cast of Shadow Dragon turned to him and shrugged.

“We'd love to say something, but the writers forgot to give us personalities,” 90% of them said in unison. The other 10% just didn't really feel like helping. They had their own lives to live.

“Alas and alack, woe is me,” said Marth.

“HULK SMASH!” cried Hulk, losing his patience. He stood at once, knocking his glass chair away, where it teetered for a moment before falling to the glass floor and shattering into a million pieces, like my sanity after reading this prompt.

In a rage, the Hulk yanked the chess set from the table, let out a mighty roar, and whipped it at the wall. Unfortunately, as was previously stated, the wall was made of glass and also had glass windows, which shattered at the impact. Through the breach in the wall, the vastness of space began to seep through. Soon enough, there was neither gravity nor oxygen nor heat, and everyone died.

It was still raining, though.


	28. WRITE A STORY ABOUT CAPTAIN AMERICA BEATING UP GRIMA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is only here because discord is being a dick about character limits

"If Chrom lets fall the final blow, Grima shall survive but return to his slumber," Naga said. "If Robin strikes in Chrom's stead, both his life and Grima's are forever over. Only in this way may the fell dragon be destroyed for good and all. The final decision...is yours."

Both men fell silent at the proclamation, burdened by the knowledge that either choice would surely lead to more suffering and the pressure that the moment of truth was quickly approaching.

"If that's how it has to be..." Robin said finally. "If it means protecting this world and everyone in it...I'd trade my life for theirs."

"Robin, no!" Chrom said. "You can't do this! I won't let you! We're bros! You can't leave me bro-less!"

"What about Vaike?"

"Have you _met_ Vaike?"

Robin smiled sadly, because Chrom wasn't wrong, but it didn't change anything.

"Listen, this game has been going on for way too long, and I don't like being up here on this dragon's back," Robin explained. "Just look at this thing. Look at all of its eyes! It has so many eyes! It's super creepy! You have to let me end it, Chrom."

"Robin, I _can't_ -"

But Chrom was cut off by a deep, manly, inspiring voice shouting from the skies:

"Does somebody need a hero?!"

Every head on the battlefield/dragon's back turned in awe at the new arrival on the field: a star-spangled patriot with a real rockin' bod wielding a super-bitchin' shield. Grima narrowed all of his many eyes. (It was gross.)

"THE FUCK ARE YOU," Grima said.

"I am Captain America! Now, prepare for some truth, justice, and the American way!"

"ISN'T THAT SUPERMAN'S-"

"SHIIIIIIIIELD BAAAAAAAASH!" Captain America shouted, lobbing his mighty shield at one of the dragon's many eyes.

"OW MY EYE," Grima said. "WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLE AIMS FOR THE EYES."

"Ha! All those who chose to oppose my shield must yield!" The captain punctuated this statement with a kick to another eye.

"FUCK. STOP IT. THAT REALLY HURTS. I SHOULD HAVE INVESTED IN GOGGLES."

"America, fuck yea!" At that point, Captain America resorted to mercilessly punching Grima's face while laughing maniacally, shield completely forgotten as he delighted in Grima's cries of despair.

"THIS IS STUPID AND I'M LEAVING," Grima said, and then he did. The day was saved. The end.


	29. Loliver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fucking kill me
> 
> also there are spoilers for like every game here, but mostly tellius

“I just don't understand,” Micaiah muttered to herself. “How did this even happen?”

Her curious gaze was directed at the rotund frame of Duke Oliver Tanas, whose behavior might generously be called “unique” on any given day – but lately, his manner was particularly odd. Recently, he'd been excitable in a way that, in the past, had only ever spoken to his misdeeds. Recalling the scandals the duke was notorious for, Micaiah had felt it wise to familiarize herself with his current goings-on.

That instinct had led her to the duke's estate, and she'd been standing at the threshold of his manor for close to half an hour now, watching his visitors arrive. And there were a great deal of visitors.

First, there was a finely groomed blonde mage, who'd been introduced to her as the foreign prince Leo. Before Micaiah could ask where, exactly, he hailed from - because hey, hadn't that flood been kind of a huge thing not so long ago - another traveler arrived. This one was called Lundgren, and he had the sort of stern face that made it hard to believe he would willingly choose to spend time with Oliver. Then again, he also looked like kind of a dick, so they had that in common.

Next, there was the swordsman Lon'qu, and after him, a steady stream of men and women came flowing through Oliver's doors, each apparently ecstatic to see their host. Their behaviors were just...so terribly strange to see. Inside the manor, Oliver sat lounging on a plush red couch, surrounded by his ever-expanding throng of admirers.

“I never thought I'd meet another so dedicated as I to vanquishing the forces of evil!” a woman named L'Arachel said as she fed Oliver grapes. “And you're so classically beautiful too, Duke Tanas! Why, we would make a splendid duo, if only you'd return to Rausten with me.”

The statement earned her jealous glares from her peers. But the words seemed to pass right by the ears of two more women, Lachesis and Liprica, who stood at Oliver's side and fanned him with large palm leaves. Contrary to L'Arachel's enthusiasm, they seemed almost resigned to the situation, except for the calm smiles on their faces. But it was still the most reasonable reaction Micaiah had seen from any of Oliver's guests so far.

Micaiah hesitantly entered the manner, then made a beeline for the two women, hoping they could shed some light on...whatever it was Oliver had done. However, it quickly became apparent that they wouldn't be of any help.

“I know it looks bad, but this is still probably healthier than lusting after my brother,” Lachesis said with a shrug.

“What, lusting after your brother, I'm sure I wouldn't know anything about that, what are you talking about, I'm not rambling you're rambling shut up,” Micaiah said.

“...Okay.”

Liprica sighed. “In my case, I feel like it says a lot about my life that this is actually a better deal than what I got from the guy I was with before. At least Oliver _asked_ if I wanted to be here before he sent a bunch of thugs to pick me up.”

“But _why_ do you want to be here?” Micaiah said, exasperated.

Liprica tilted her head, and she began to smile. “Why, have a look at the man!” she said fondly. “He's just so... _Oliver_.”

“What does _that_ mean?!”

* * *

Oliver was so contented with the company of his new guests that his enjoyment was barely marred by that Micaiah lass's sudden intrusion. He'd been slightly annoyed when she barged in without knocking, but he was willing to forgive that – he, too, would have forgotten his manners if faced with the prospect of meeting someone as dazzling as himself.

But then she'd had the gall to question his guests about why they had come to visit! What could she possibly be confused about? Obviously, these people had just been unable to resist his incredible charms. It wasn't like this was an unusual situation. This was just what a person as beautiful as Oliver deserved: the adoration of the masses.

And there was such a selection of beauty here! There were the classics, like Louise, but then there were the more particular tastes necessary to appreciate a man like Legion...but Oliver had those tastes. Oh, Oliver had all of the tastes. (Except for children, because even Oliver had to draw the line somewhere. He'd regretfully sent Lugh off to play in the gardens with Lianna. Lianna, on the other hand, he'd sent because the sight of her piss-colored hair was not beautiful at all and it filled him with uncontrollable rage.)

But that Micaiah...she was really harshing his vibes. Sighing, Oliver waved over Lilith, who seemed like a most capable young woman.

“Would you mind showing our guest to the door?” Oliver asked, pointing to Micaiah. “I try to surround myself only with beautiful people, and that wretch has the most dreadful aura. Don't you agree?”

“Oh, certainly,” Lilith said. “Shall I banish her to the Astral Plane?”

“Your devotion is both touching and understandable, but no: escorting her out of the manor will do.” Lilith had a strange sort of beauty to her, but the idea of an astral plane sounded ridiculous, even to Oliver. It did, however, sound like a wonderful solution to his child-rearing problem. He considered asking Lilith to send Lugh there later. (Also Lianna, but only if she could never come back.)

As Lilith guided Micaiah to the door, the wench loudly protesting her treatment, Oliver wondered how he should amuse himself next. He had all these guests, but he'd barely spent any time with them! But where to begin...?

“Lucius, Libra!” he called, and the two men hurried to stand before him. They were exactly his favorite sort: ethereally beautiful, thin, blonde-haired men. They probably would have looked even better with wings, but Oliver accepted that beauty came in many forms and he would have to satisfy himself with this, for now. The trouble, rather, was that they were so similar, he wasn't sure which he preferred.

“How shall I decide?” he mused. At that moment, Legault appeared at his side, a devious smirk on his face. (Oliver was less certain of Legault's charms, but he supposed some people found facial scars sexy.)

“What's on your mind?” Legault asked.

“Oh, I just can't decide which of these beauties is the more lovely!” Oliver cried, bringing his hands up to his cheeks to emphasize his personal dilemma. He was so conflicted. Life was suffering.

“Well, that's easy,” Legault said. “Just let _them_ decide for you. Have each of them tell you why he thinks he's the better choice.”

“Oh, that's a wonderful idea!”

“Ah, excuse me, but...do we have to do this?” Lucius said. Oliver frowned. What objection could he possibly have? It seemed like such a swell plan.

“Honestly, I agree,” Libra said. “Oliver, I do respect you, but this feels almost...childish.”

“Oh, no, it's not that,” Lucius assured them. “Trust me, with the man I've been working for most of my life, I'm no stranger to childishness. It's just, it seems like a waste of time; we all know I'd win. You're clearly a cheap knockoff of me, except you alienated the yaoi fanbase by only romancing women. Now you just have no fanbase. At all.”

Libra flinched. Lucius shrugged.

“Check and mate,” he said. “What do I win, Oliver?”

“Well, I suppose that settles that-” Oliver said.

“Hold a moment,” Legault said. “Don't you want to test the others, as well? If you're looking for girly men, there's always Lyon, Leon – say, maybe there's something to that name – or Luthier. I believe Lucina and Linde can pull the look off, too. And, if I'm not being too bold, I'd point out that _I_ fit the bill rather nicely, myself.”

He waggled his eyebrows, and Oliver laughed heartily. He couldn't blame these people for their eagerness to please him; this must have been the first time they were encountering such majesty as his own. But there would be plenty of time for him to get to know each of them individually. And he didn't want a single one to feel left out.

“Oh, it's not that at all,” Oliver said. “A girly man is a beautiful thing, but surely you can also appreciate the equal splendor of a manly man? Why, just look upon either of the Reed brothers! There's even some magnificence to be found in a manly girl, and our dear Lady Lyndis is living proof. On that note, what about the pleasures of a buxom woman, such as Laevatein or Loki? Expand your mind, friend Legault! There is beauty to be seen in every corner of this manse!”

“'Kay,” Legault said.

* * *

Indeed, even if beauty were difficult to find on Oliver's estate, entertainment was not. Shortly after their arrival, the dancers Lalum and Layla had put on their own show. It was entirely for Oliver's benefit, because he was just such an impressive creature, but they had gained a grateful audience of the other guests.

“Wow, that Layla sure can dance,” Lissa said.

“Sorry, you called?” Leila said.

“What? No, I meant the other Layla. The hot one.”

“I _am_ the hot one,” Leila protested, but no one really cared about either one of them, so it didn't matter. Besides, in Oliver's eyes, everyone was the hot one. Even Lena, who was super not hot at all. Even _Laurent_ , who was so not-hot as to be nearly unattractive! And even Lute, whose obnoxious personality had, in the past, made it difficult for any acquaintance to describe her with flattering words.

And even Lukas, but he actually was hot, so he didn't really count.

* * *

Segues are really hard.

In the kitchens of Oliver's manor, more of his suitors were working hard to prepare a feast fit for their magnificent host. The standard nobleman might have a small staff to serve his meals, but a man of Oliver's impressive girth required a bit more work. His new guests were more than happy to accommodate him.

Lowen had been appointed head chef, because he appeared to be the only one who actually knew what a stove was, and then Oliver had selected a group of assistants for him. As he'd sent him off to the kitchens, Oliver had winked at Lowen and told him how much he was looking forward to his dinner tonight. The eagerness on his face made Lowen's pulse race, and he was determined this would be his best meal yet.

His lackluster kitchen staff was now shattering those dreams.

He'd given one of them the easy job of slicing a freshly baked loaf of bread, and when he checked on the man's progress, he found the slices alternated between much too thick and much too thin. He wondered how anyone could fail such a simple task. He picked up two slices and slapped them against the man's face.

“What are you?” Lowen asked.

“I'm Lance,” the man replied, the response a little muffled on account of the bread being smushed up on his face. “I think Oliver, our super appealing host, sent me back here because he thought I was you. I don't really see the resemblance, but whatever. I'm sure he doesn't make mistakes. Because he's so great.”

Lowen narrowed his eyes. “What are you?” he repeated.

“Oh, are we- are we doing Gordon Ramsay references? Is that what's going on here?” Lowen pushed harder. “Fuck! Ow, that hurts! Stopstopstop – _an idiot sandwich, I'm an idiot sandwich, okay_?!”

Lowen released his grip.

“You're a fucking disgrace,” he said.

Next, he checked on Lilina, whom he'd set to cutting up some vegetables. She proved to be just as disappointing. With an annoyed grunt, Lowen moved her out of the way and finished her work for her, certain it was the only way this meal was going to be finished to his standards.

“Oh, wow, you're good at this,” Lilina said. “Oliver will be so pleased with us!”

With us? Lowen thought. With us! _He'd_ been the one to do all the work! He was the only one who deserved the magnificent Oliver's praise! He glared at her. “How about a thank you, you miserable wee bitch?”

Lilina held back her tears. For the sake of Oliver, she would put up with this abuse. That was the mantra every kitchen-hand repeated as Lowen continued to make his rounds, hurling abuse at everyone who couldn't meet his standards – which was actually just everyone, full stop.

“You fucking donkey,” he said to Lot, who had mixed up his sugar and his salt. He also called Luke a “panini head,” not for any particular reason (he hadn't actually trusted Luke with any work in the first place), but just because it seemed like the thing to do. When Limstella tried to present him with the chicken she had cooked, all he had to say was, “IT'S FUCKING RAAAAAW!”

Within an hour, Lowen had devolved into completely mindless shouting, and everyone had given up their attempts to help him. They understood that their assistance would only interfere with Lowen's genius, and they were all looking forward to seeing Oliver's satisfied face when he tasted his culinary delights. They had reached a sort of peace about the situation, and their roles in it.

Lowen, however, had not.

“FUCK OFF!” he yelled, rushing from one end of the kitchen to the other. “FUCK OFF! FUCK OFF! FUCK OFF!”

This might be Hell's Kitchen, but if it killed him, Lowen was going to make this meal.

* * *

Langobalt, Lara, Larcei, Laylea, Leen, Leif, Lester, Lewyn, Lex, Lifis, Linda, Linoan and Liza stood in a dark Corner of Shame. They had been exiled there because no one could understand what the fuck they were saying. Also there was Loptyr, who was a goddamn dragon, and therefore kind of confused and saddened by the fact that no one was paying attention to him.

“This is bullshit,” Leif said, but not in English. “I'm a main character. How is it possible that I've still never been exposed to audiences outside of Japan? How is Oliver supposed to love me if he can't even understand me?”

“You think localization can save you? Think again,” said a nearby voice.

Down the wall from the Corner of Shame was the even worse Corner of Forgetability. This shadowy area was occupied by Lang, Larissa, Latona, Laverton, Lawson, Legance, Leiden, Lepus, the other Liza, Lombroso, Llewelyn, Lloyd (not Reed), Lorenz, and Lumel. These characters were so forgettable, Leif had already forgotten which of them had spoken to him. Not that it mattered, because they were now engaged in a conversation among themselves.

“I'm actually a man,” Larissa was telling the others. “I know my appearance leaves little room for doubt, but I bet if someone just saw my name and remembered nothing else about me, they'd be super surprised to find out I'm not a girl. Just as an aside.”

“Whatever,” Lang said. “I shouldn't even be here with you losers. I'm a fairly important villain in Archanea.”

“Okay, but nobody cares about Archanea,” Latona said. “I'm an actual legend. I have S-rank staves in multiple games named after me. What did I do to deserve this?”

The occupants of both corners let out a collective sigh of defeat. Their lives were so empty and hard. Still, on the occasions Oliver deigned to look their way, each of their hearts fluttered with inexpressible joy, and it made all the pain worth it.

* * *

Outside the manor, Micaiah continued to skulk around the grounds, still trying to come up with a solution to the bizarre problem that had presented itself to her.

It was bad enough when it was strangers, but when familiar faces started filtering through the door, Micaiah thought she might be sick. Leonardo was one thing – he'd always been kind of useless to her, so she found it hard to muster up the energy to care about him now – but she did have actual friends to worry about, too.

“Dear, sweet Laura,” she moaned, “What madness has led you here?”

“Oh, I've only seen the light, Micaiah,” Laura said. “Haven't you?” And it was just so: there was a disturbing, manic glint in her eyes – in Leonardo's, too. Micaiah couldn't keep either of them from going to Oliver.

She didn't even _try_ to stop Aimee, cause bitch was kinda cray. But Micaiah had to admit to being a little curious about what she was doing there in the first place. Something about her just didn't fit the pattern here, whatever it may be.

“Oh, you know, I go by Larabel sometimes,” Aimee said, as if that explained anything. But Micaiah didn't really care enough to contest the point.

A one-armed berserker followed Aimee in, and he whistled appreciatively when he saw the duke.

“I thought Calill was smokin', but this Oliver guy is, like, beauty incarnate,” Largo said. “Listen, priestess: do me a favor and let the wife know I'm trading up.”

“I have no idea who you are or who your wife is,” Micaiah protested, but he had already passed her by.

When Lethe and Lyre walked in alongside Leanne, who'd brought her own family – Lorazieh and another sister, whom she called Lillia – Micaiah actually did try to stop them.

“What the hell, Lethe, he's a slave trader and your whole thing is that you hate racist beorcs!” she yelled. She turned to Leanne. “And you! He kidnapped your brother! He tried to kidnap you! Also, isn't your father supposed to be bedridden and your sister dead?”

“Rude,” Leanne admonished, and then she and her entourage walked briskly by. 

Levail – a pretty-boy general from Begnion who would be completely forgettable if not for the Wishblade he lifted off Bryce's corpse – snuck by as they spoke, so Micaiah never got the chance to question his vitality. Nor did she think to question Lanvega doing the same, on account of never having seen the man before and therefore not realizing he was an ambulatory corpse. (It was a shame, too, because he probably would have been really interesting, had anyone remembered his existence.) Also Lotz was there too, I guess.

She did, however, catch sight of Lekain trying to sneak in, and she was just not having any of that.

“ _You_ are definitely dead,” Micaiah said. “I killed you myself! Get the fuck outta here.”

“True love can work miracles,” Lekain said. “Just ask my friend, Ludveck. We met on the way here.”

“Yo, sup,” Ludveck said. “Hey, have you seen Lucia anywhere? We had some unfinished business.”

“She...she's inside,” Micaiah said, defeated. The two men entered the manor, and Micaiah was left alone on the doorstep, feeling completely lost in the world. There was no rhyme or reason to any of this. She'd spoken to so many guests she couldn't even remember them all, and not a single one could explain how they'd come to be here or why. What on earth had Oliver done? Could no one put an end to this madness?

“You appear to be rather shaken,” a soothing voice said, and Micaiah looked up to see the calming smile of Begnion's former prime minister, Sephiran.

“Oh, Sephiran,” Micaiah said gratefully, “thank Ashera someone with sense has arrived. Did Sanaki send you? I just can't figure out what's going on here! There have been all these foreign visitors, and they all say they're here to see Oliver! Can you believe that? What on earth could have caused this?”

“Gee, I don't know,” Sephiran said. “Maybe it has something to do with that time somebody stabbed the Goddess of Order and made her explode into a billion shiny pieces.”

“Ah, fuck.”

“Yes, well done. Perhaps you should have just let me enact _my_ plan.”

“...Perhaps,” Micaiah had to admit. “But you're here now, so surely there's something you can do to put things right? Order is, like, your whole dealio, innit?”

“Oh, Micaiah,” Sephiran said, smiling sadly. “That's not why I'm here at all. Haven't you realized yet? Don't you understand what all of Oliver's visitors have in common?”

What they had in common? They all came from different places, their personalities ranged from lovable to despicable, there was no common thread in their looks...but then Micaiah remembered what Aimee had said, that offhand comment about her alias. What they had in common...

“Their names all start with the same letter,” Micaiah realized. Sephiran nodded. “Oh, I'm so clever! Will you help me now?”

“You've almost got it,” Sephiran said. “Just think a little harder, dear.”

“Why are you behaving so strangely? What am I missing?” Micaiah crossed her arms and frowned. If he wasn't going to help her, what was he doing here? While she puzzled over his presence, Sephiran sighed and pushed past her, heading towards the manner. And that was when she finally understood.

“LEHRAN, NO!”

He turned to look at her, a pitying expression on his face.

“You witness the dawn of a new era, Micaiah,” he said, spreading his arms wide as if inviting her to behold the terrible image she'd wrought. It was horrible. It was beautiful. It was... _Oliver._

“Welcome,” Lehran said, “to the age...of Loliver.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that better be every fucking "L" character i had a checklist and everything

**Author's Note:**

> I will write literally anything for anyone. Just throwing that out there...


End file.
